


the necrophiliac's guide to getting it up when your cannibal boyfriend won't stay dead

by nise_kazura



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dark Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Major Character Death but it's not permanent so I didn't use the archive warning, Necrophilia, Will is a bit of a brat, hannibal is soft for his murder bae, really it's a very functional relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 08:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21194942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nise_kazura/pseuds/nise_kazura
Summary: Hannibal groans. Whether it’s because his dick is in Will’s ass or if it’s because Will’s knife is in his chest, Will isn’t sure. The two might be somehow correlated, though, because he feels Hannibal twitch a little inside of him.Hannibal looks good like this. Sweat and blood mix where Will had run his fingers over his chest, glistening a bit in the low light. Will is only half hard, but he finds he likes the feeling of being full. It’s nice. He wouldn’t mind doing this again, even if Hannibal weren’t actively dying during the process.





	the necrophiliac's guide to getting it up when your cannibal boyfriend won't stay dead

**Author's Note:**

> i tried my best to make this funny but i dont know how well i succeeded lol  
my sense of humor is a bit...uh...weird? lmao  
anyways, enjoy!

He tastes exactly like a nosebleed. Not that that should be surprising to Will at all, given that he’s licking up Hannibal’s blood, but part of him had expected something…different. Something that would reflect what Hannibal really _ was. _

_ (Like week-old bottled water, maybe, _ Will thought to himself, snidely, _ because he’s a plastic, fake bitch.) _

There’s a distinctive arterial spray marring the surface of Hannibal’s stainless steel refrigerator. A broken egg on the floor, from when Hannibal dropped it in surprise. A belt lying in the pool of blood beneath Hannibal’s head. A flannel shirt flung to the side, with bloodstains on its sleeve. 

And, of course, a man named Will Graham balls-deep in Hannibal Lecter’s freshly-dead body.

Will groans and sucks at the gaping wound he’d left on Hannibal’s neck, cock nearly slipping out of Hannibal’s hole. He thinks about how angry Hannibal would have been if he knew Will had gotten his favorite suit stained with blood. He thinks about the dumb look of incomprehension on Hannibal’s face as he’d stumbled back, blood spurting from his neck. He thinks about watching the light leave his eyes, the bodies in the basement, the fact that Hannibal’s dinner has long since gone burnt on the stove, which is still on.

“Fuck,” his thrusts grow sloppy, “yeah, take Daddy’s cock. Take it like a good bitch.”

Will is inordinately happy he can finally let himself indulge in his guilty daddy kink—he’s certain that if Hannibal were alive he’d never let him live it down. 

Huh. Maybe that’s part of why he likes dead people so much? 

“Gonna fill your filthy corpse with my cum. Piss all over your stupid fucking pretty face.”

Will closes his eyes, sweat beading on his brow, and hitches Hannibal’s limp leg higher up on his shoulder.

“I’ll eat your fat. Fucking. Cock.” Every word is punctuated by the sound of Will’s balls slapping Hannibal’s ass. 

He wonders if he digs around Hannibal’s kitchen, if he’ll find a recipe somewhere for dick. He’s seriously considering it. Literally crunching into Hannibal’s cock. Hannibal would like that, wouldn’t he? Not that what he likes matters anymore. Will made sure of that.

“God, fuck. I imagined this a lot, you know. Finally shutting you up.”

He rests his forehead on Hannibal’s chest then turns his head so that his ear is pressed to skin, wanting to remember the stillness, the silence, the—

Will scrambles back, dick slapping against his stomach as he stares wide-eyed at the body lying still on the floor. 

He could’ve sworn he’d heard a heartbeat.

After a moment of nothing, he crawls back, squinting suspiciously. There’s no way. He’d made sure. Hannibal was dead. _ Dead. _The cut had been precise, long, and deep. He’d gasped for air, stared at Will in betrayal, bled out on his pristine floors.

Will looks down at his still-erect dick.

Yeah, Hannibal was definitely dead.

He licks his lips, still tasting the blood caked on them.

And then he sees it—a tiny rise and fall of the chest.

“...Hannibal?”

The “corpse” doesn’t respond, but now that he’s paying attention, Will can tell that its definitely _ breathing. _Unless he’s hallucinating again. Which, granted, isn’t entirely impossible.

He pokes at the layer of chub on Hannibal’s stomach. When nothing happens, he decides to try again.

Poke. Poke, poke.

The great Hannibal Lecter, playing dead? That can’t be it, surely.

“Hey. Hey, pretentious, old bastard.”

Nothing.

“…Bitch who uses analogies like an undergrad trying to bullshit their way to minimum word count at 4 in the morning.”

Poke.

"Hey. Hey, dude who dresses like a grandmotherly peacock that can't tell gingham from tartan."

Poke. Poke, poke, poke.

Will can’t be sure, but it almost looks like Hannibal’s face has more color than it did a minute ago.

“Your mom is a—”

“Is this really necessary, Will?”

Will’s first reaction is immense disappointment. His hard-on flags immediately.

His next thought is,_ Shit, does that mean he knows about my daddy kink now? _Oh god. No psychiatrist was ever supposed to know about Will’s daddy kink.

And, finally, _ What the fuck? Is he actually Satan? Did I just try to kill and then fuck Satan? _

Hannibal opens his eyes and gives Will a look that says “I’m absolutely not psychoanalyzing your necrophiliac tendencies right now”. Will glowers back.

“…You’re alive.”

Hannibal, who seems perfectly content to remain with his legs spread wide open, ass bared, shrugs and says, “I’m sorry, dear. I would’ve let you know earlier, but you just seemed to be enjoying yourself so much, I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

Will is still having trouble processing. Is he going insane? _ Again? _Shouldn’t there be some kind of rule against this? 

“But I killed you.”

“Yes, you did.” Hannibal smiles, looking disgustingly pleased for someone who was just murdered by his one and only friend. “Fortunately, I have more than one life at my disposal. I apologize for being unable to inform you of this earlier—I didn’t expect this development to happen quite so soon.”

Yeah, well Will was tired of being unable to get off, so he’d gotten...impatient.

“What, exactly, does having more than one life at your disposal...mean?”

Hannibal tucks his shirt back into his pants as he starts to get dressed again, as it has become clear that Will was not planning on resuming his activities anytime soon.

“I discovered at a young age that, in eating a human, I also consume their life energy. This allows me to revive after death.”

“So you’re, what, immortal?”

“Even I have only eaten a finite number of humans, Will.”

“...Then how old are you, really?”

Hannibal frowns at him.

“I have excess life energy, not eternal youth,” he corrects, droll.

“Ah, of course.”

Of _ course? _ Just what part of this situation makes sense in any way?!

Will, who has an unfortunate condition in which it is nearly impossible for him to get off to anything other than a dead corpse, is incredibly disappointed with this development.

Hannibal seems to sense this, because he says, “Would you like to try again?”

Will blinks.

“Try what again?”

“I have many, many lives at my disposal, William.”

Will licks his lips.

“…You want me to kill you again?”

“If that would make you feel better.”

Will is, understandably, a bit skeptical.

“…If that would make me feel better,” he repeats, slowly.

He is also getting hard again just thinking about it.

“You’re not trying to frame me again, are you?”

“It wouldn’t really be framing if you were really committing the crime, Will. But, no. I do not plan on having you incarcerated again.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

They stare at each other for another moment. Hannibal picks up his blood-stained belt, and arches an eyebrow.

“Will I be needing this?”

“No,” Will says, “But I will.”

And proceeds to use the belt to strangle Hannibal back to death.

Hannibal Lecter dies a total of 5 times that night. 

What? Will was making up for lost time, okay? Apparently, unless your new boyfriend is a cannibal serial killer that can revive from death, being a necrophiliac lends itself to a rather unfulfilling sex life. Who knew?

* * *

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

“That would require me to be alive, William,” Hannibal says in an almost admonishing tone. Like he’s reminding a child to say “please” and “thank you” and make sure you wash your hands before coming to the dinner table, William, don’t disrespect the people we’re having by coming with dirt under your nails, honestly.

“Yeah, but,” Will says, as he hands Hannibal another one of his bloodstained, ruined shirts, “I’m the only one getting anything out of this relationship. I just thought, I don’t know. I thought I should offer?”

Hannibal hums.

“I wouldn’t want to force you to do things you don’t enjoy for my sexual gratification.”

Will frowns, feeling a bit like an asshole.

“But what about you? I’m assuming you don’t enjoy being choked to death every other day.”

Hannibal gives Will an indulgent smile.

“Your pleasure is my pleasure, Will. Please, don’t worry yourself about it.”

Will isn’t convinced.

“You’re gonna use this to guilt me into hunting with you, aren’t you.”

“It’s only right that you help me replenish the lives I’ve lost, since they’re currently being consumed at a rather rapid pace,” Hannibal says, not unreasonably. He holds up the scalpel Will had used to gut him up to the light, polishing it back to a perfect shine.

Will sighs. He _ supposes _ that’s fair.

“And I don’t suppose this is an…open relationship, either.”

“If you’re asking me if I’d allow you to have sexual intercourse with my victims, the answer is no. The DNA evidence would be too difficult to get rid of.”

And he’d get too jealous, of course. Will wonders if Hannibal is reconsidering the offer to help him hunt. Maybe he’d prefer to keep all of Will’s violence to himself, too.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, exclusive relationship, I got it.”

Not that Will had really been planning on fucking anyone else. He just thought that, maybe, Hannibal would prefer not dying every time Will gets the urge to stick his dick in something. And since he’s already a serial killer…

Hannibal picks up a section of what looks like small intestine, placing it in the trashbag before stopping to think for a moment.

“Are you still seeing Garret Jacob Hobbs in your dreams?”

Will takes a moment to wonder why Hannibal is bothering to ask, and then wrinkles his nose. “Ew. God, no. It’s not like that, Hannibal, Jesus. I have _ standards, _ just because I’m a necrophiliac doesn’t mean I wanna fuck _ every _body I’ve ever seen.”

That would be...a lot of bodies. Will’s not that big of a hoe, okay.

“He was your first victim,” Hannibal points out.

“Yeah, well I wasn’t about to fuck the dude right on his kitchen floor.”

Neither of them mention the fact that that’s _ exactly _ what happened the night they’d gotten together. Hannibal seems reasonably pleased with his response, however, so he lets the subject drop.

“I really wouldn’t mind, though,” Will says. “If you fucked me, that is. We could do both?”

* * *

Hannibal groans. Whether it’s because his dick is in Will’s ass or if it’s because Will’s knife is in his chest, Will isn’t sure. The two might be somehow correlated, though, because he feels Hannibal twitch a little inside of him.

Hannibal looks good like this. Sweat and blood mix where Will had run his fingers over his chest, glistening a bit in the low light. Will is only half hard, but he finds he likes the feeling of being full. It’s nice. He wouldn’t mind doing this again, even if Hannibal weren’t actively dying during the process.

Well, maybe. He could put up with it no problem, at the very least.

Hannibal grunts, stomach clenching as he thrusts up into Will, hands gripping Will’s ass. Will wonders if he’d be very mad if Will killed him before he got to orgasm.

Probably not. But it would be polite to wait, wouldn’t it? Will is unsure of the etiquette required in this situation.

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal moans, and then coughs up a gout of blood.

Ah. Will must’ve hit his lung.

Will may have underestimated how much Hannibal enjoys dying at Will’s hand, because he strokes a thumb along Will’s jaw before coaxing him down for an eager, bloody kiss.

“Oh, Will,” he says again, coughing, and Will can observes with a kind of detached fascination as Hannibal’s body jerks and clenches, ramming up into Will as he comes.

Will twists the knife, then pulls it out, and brings it back down. Again. And again.

Five stabs later, and Hannibal’s hand drops from Will’s jaw. Will pants with exertion. Hannibal’s breath rattles in his chest now, wounds leaking sluggishly. He is also still smiling adoringly up at him. Will feels his face flush—seriously, why is he looking at him like that? Weirdo.

But he likes it. He likes knowing that Hannibal is probably in love with him, or at least as much as men like them can love. He likes it enough to start rocking back and forth, grinding down on Hannibal’s dick, even if Hannibal can probably barely feel it at this point. He likes it, staring into Hannibal’s eyes to watch the moment they glaze over, the moment his jaw goes slack. It’s...intimate. Personal. Something he wants to covet, keep for himself. He realizes that he doesn’t want anyone else to ever see Hannibal dead. That’s for him, and him only.

He leans forward to rest his forehead against Hannibal’s. No breath puffs out across his cheeks, despite their closeness. He shudders, frantically jerking himself off before slumping over Hannibal’s dead body, Hannibal’s limp dick still inside of him.

He wonders if Hannibal would be down for another round after. The sheets are already ruined—so why not?

* * *

Will sets aside the saw, hands shaking just a little. Before him lies Hannibal’s body, head now detached. The blood has gotten _ everywhere, _ from the spray that had resulted when the major arteries to the brain had all been cut, the splatter from the rotation of the saw sending a fine mist that Will can still taste in the air. 

He grabs Hannibal’s head by the hair, sticks his fingers in the mouth to pry the jaw open, then shoves his cock in.

Will stumbles back until he’s sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall. He’s holding Hannibal’s skull with both of his hands, feet digging into the ground so he can lift his hips, thrusting into Hannibal’s mouth each time he brings the head down to meet his hips. He closes his eyes, head dropping back, neck elongated. He can feel Hannibal’s limp tongue sliding along the underside of his cock, hear the squelch with every movement, feel the fingers creeping their way up his leg— 

Will’s eyes snap open. He looks down, and screams. And screams. And screams.

* * *

“Interesting,” Hannibal remarks over dinner.

“That’s all you have to say?!” Will asks, gripping his fork so hard he’s sure he’s bent it.

“I have to admit that this is new information to me,” Hannibal says. “It will be very useful to know in the future, however.”

“Never again,” Will vows, remembering the way Hannibal’s headless corpse had crawled blindly after him as he ran screaming down the halls, before he’d thought to drop Hannibal’s head and let it place it back on its neck, completing the healing process.

Hannibal very deliberately cuts a piece of liver, and delicately places it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

Will stares at him.

“Are you _ laughing _ at me?”

“I would do no such thing, dear,” Hannibal assures him.

“You are! You’re laughing at me! You might fool everyone else with the refined, gentlemanly act, but you can’t fool me.”

Hannibal’s eyes twinkle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Will stabs his meat and saws at it vigorously with the knife, until the metal screeches along the ceramic plate.

“Never again,” he says, pointing his fork at Hannibal, before biting the meat off the utensil viciously.

Never. Again.

* * *

“Hmnrffgh,” Will groans, teeth clamped around Hannibal’s ear.

Hannibal tries his best to remain as still as possible. Will had stabbed him in the face this time—likely as revenge for throwing out his whiskey. A bit petty, given that Hannibal was only trying to introduce things of higher quality into Will’s life, but Hannibal likes Will when he’s being petty and cranky, too, so it’s not such a big deal, he supposes. Nevertheless, a stab to the face involves less rending and tearing than some of the other scenes they’ve done, and so Hannibal had revived much more quickly.

Hence, playing dead again.

“Gonna leave so much fucking DNA on you,” Will moans.

Hannibal has to fight to make sure his lips don’t twitch at that. He can’t help it—he finds Will’s forensics kink rather endearing. It has a poetic irony to it that Hannibal adores.

“Mmh, so good for Daddy, so good for me.”

Will whines into Hannibal’s neck, a sweet, full-body tremor running through him.

It’s during moments like these that Hannibal wishes he could wrap his arms around Will, hold him close. Brush back his bangs, press his lips to the skin there.

But that would break the spell. So he remains still, holding his breath—simply relishing the feel of Will moving over him, a hidden moment of closeness in which they can only meet whilst passing each other on the bridge between life and death.

Will whimpers, shaking apart, before slumping over Hannibal, gasping. After another few moments, Hannibal lets out the breath he was holding, and opens his eyes.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Will says, a lazy grin stretching over his handsome features. 

“How are you feeling, darling?”

Will sighs and nuzzles Hannibal’s shoulder. He looks sated, happy. Tickled pink, really.

“Good.”

Hannibal lets himself smile back, but doesn’t reach for him until Will turns on his side, an unspoken plea. Only then does Hannibal allow himself to roll over and fold himself around Will, cuddling close.

Hannibal likes cuddles.

“I’m glad,” Hannibal murmurs. “Daddy.”

Will freezes, then groans.

“You were _ alive?” _

“Just for a bit, near the end.”

“Oh god. Just. Forget that. Forget you heard anything. Fuck, whatever happened to dead men can’t spill secrets?”

“Don’t worry, dear, I won’t tell anyone,” Hannibal chuckles, readjusting himself so that his chin fits snugly over Will’s shoulder.

“You’d better not,” Will grumbles crossly, but he’s begun to relax again, leaning back against Hannibal’s body. Hannibal wonders if he likes this part, too, the way Hannibal does. The feel of a warm body pressed against his—for comfort, not for sex. 

His blood is spilled across the floor. Yet another one of his suits, irreparably ruined. He’s pretty sure Will let one of the dogs lick his facial wounds before he’d revived. Will’s bony elbow digs into his side, and his cold feet are pressed to his shins. He’s also beginning to drool on Hannibal’s arm. 

Hannibal has never seen Will as peaceful as he is like this, sleeping in his arms.

“Mmm, can I cut your toes off next time?” Will murmurs, half-asleep.

“Sure thing, darling.”

Hannibal feels a well of adoration in his chest, and presses a kiss under Will’s jaw.

This, what they have—it’s perfect. Not very conventional, perhaps, but when had Hannibal ever wanted that?

Will huffs, then twists around in Hannibal’s arms.

“Can’t sleep,” he says, pouting.

“Insomnia?”

“Not tired enough.”

“Well, then we’ll have to find a way to tire you out,” Hannibal supposes out loud.

Will smirks. The knife is back in his hand.

The last thing Hannibal sees before he blacks out is Will, smiling back down at him.

And thus, Hannibal Lecter dies smiling, yet again.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on twitter [@nise_kazura](https://twitter.com/nise_kazura)! :)


End file.
